01 Sessions of Survival
by SpeedBurn
Summary: Stella's a narc and Mac's a new transfer. Gideon is called in to help an old friend with a personal case, bringing his trainee Derek. (CSI NY, Criminal Minds, and NYPD Blue: NOT 'ship - Sam)
1. Painful Separations (prologue)

Chapter Title: Painful Separations (prologue)

Author: Sam

Story: Sessions of Survival: 00 of 09

Series: _SpeedBurn_: 01

Characters: Mac Taylor, Claire Taylor, Jason Gideon, Derek Morgan, Stella Bonasera, Johnny Kelly, Andy Sipowicz

Rating: M: Violence, Sexual Innuendoes, Language, Drug Use

Summary: Gideon is called to help an old friend with a new case. Stella's in legal trouble, but what can Mac do . . . especially since he's never met her?

Spoiler: Yeah, seasons 1 – 6 of _NYPD Blue_ and random facts from _CSI: NY_ and _Criminal Minds_.

Category: Crime-related; Drama; Science; AU

Setting: AU: _SpeedBurn_: Sunday, April 20, 1997: Chicago, Illinois and Wednesday, April 1, 1998: New York City (for about two months).

Disclaimer: _CSI: NY_ was created by Ann Donahue, Carol Mendelsohn, and Anthony E. Zuiker and produced by Alliance Atlantis Communications (2004-2007), Alliance Atlantis Motion Picture Production (2004-2007), Alliance Atlantis Productions (2004-2007), CBS Paramount Network Television (2006-2009), CBS Productions (2004-2006), CBS Television Studios (2009-present), Clayton Entertainment, and Jerry Bruckheimer Television. _Criminal Minds_ was created by Jeff Davis and produced by Touchstone Television (2005-2007), Paramount Network Television (2005-2006), The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios (2007-present), CBS Paramount Network Television (2006-2009), and CBS Television Studios (2009-present). _NYPD Blue_ was created by Steven Bochco and David Milch and produced by 20th Century Fox Television, Fox Television Network, and Steven Bochco Productions. I am in no way connected with these people, and I do not claim ownership of these characters, lands, or names. I have borrowed them to share a story, and most likely not a story any of them would have written, had they had the time or no. I am making no money from this and it is just for my entertainment and that of free entertainment to a select group. Thank you.

Distribution: Please ask first?

Note: In the _SpeedBurn_ timeline series significant changes occur in various episodes, marking differences in each series. The initial drastically changed episodes are in chronological order: "Bait" (_Without a Trace_), "Reveille" (_NCIS_), "Lost Son" (_CSI: Miami_), "Bodies in Motion" (_Crime Scene Investigation_), "Summer in the City" (_CSI: NY_), and "In Name and Blood (In Birth and Death)" (_Criminal Minds_). Many episodes after those changed are also different. This story is number 1 in the grand scheme. Thank you.

Second Note: This is a three-way crossover between _CSI: NY_, _Criminal Minds_, and _NYPD Blue_. Keep an eye on dates and locales so you can follow the two cases.

Feedback: Yes, please, especially constructive.

xxx

Setting: Sunday, April 20, 1997; Chicago, Illinois:

"Why us, Gideon? The Chicago unit can easily handle a kidnapping. Why call for someone from DC?" Derek Morgan's smooth voice sounded curious but not anxious as he turned the rental car off the turnpike.

Jason Gideon nodded, flipping to the first page in the file he held. _Taylor – Suspected Kidnapping – April 20, 1997_ was written at the top followed by a list of details concerning the crime, scene, victim, and other pertinent information. Along with the text was a photograph clipped to the page: a man with dark hair and intense stare looking straight at the camera standing with an arm around a lovely brown-haired, blue-eyed woman with a playful smile. Jason stroked one finger gently down the photograph, as if touching something precious.

"The FBI didn't call us in, Derek. The victim's father called me in."

"Specifically? You know these people?" Derek didn't take his eyes from the road as he wove the car around the city traffic.

Letting out a slow breath, Jason closed the file. He didn't need to look at it to know everything it contained. "I served under him in Beirut."

Derek's eyes widened at the admission. "Wait . . . Beirut? Are you talking '83? The Marine barracks bombing? You were there?"

Jason looked at his trainee then back at the view through the windshield. His voice took on a faraway, lecturer's tone, much as it did when reciting the evidence and profile of their cases. "Lieutenant McKenna Llewellyn Taylor was severely injured and still saved others. He did surgery in the field . . . but he wasn't trained for it. Our Corpsman was swamped. I was a raw private first class and left the Corps shortly afterwards."

The senior investigator ran a finger over the edge of the case file without looking at it. He remained distant sounding, almost detached from what he said. "The lieutenant was in the hospital for weeks. I went every day to see him, but his nurse was more strict than a gunnery sergeant. She'd only let visitors in for a few minutes every three days." With the smallest shrug of his shoulders, Jason indicated a relaxed nonchalance separate from his lecturer attitude. "He lived; he healed; he stayed in and later served in the Gulf War; so she must have done something right."

"After he retired from the Marines, he went on to law enforcement. He met Claire Conrad around that time and they soon married. She works for Port Authority at Great Lakes; he's second in command of the Chicago Crime Lab."

Derek whistled low. He shook his head and pulled into a space in the hospital parking garage. "And they're calling in a favor with a buddy?" The young African-American investigator turned off the car.

Jason finally turned to Derek holding the file out to him. "This morning their first child, Magnolia Star Taylor, was born after a difficult delivery. Five hours ago, the doctors got Claire's hemorrhaging under control and the mother was allowed to hold her infant for the first time. After twenty minutes a nurse came in and told them Claire needed to rest and the baby needed to go back to the nursery for routine checks. She took the infant from the mother's arms, walked out of Mrs. Taylor's room, and no one has seen nurse or infant since."

Jason slid out of the car, looked over the roof at his trainee, and said "so, yes, Lieutenant Taylor called in a favor from an old Marine buddy."

He closed the door of the rental car and turned towards the hospital entrance, Derek close on his heels.

xxx

Continued in Chapter One: Second Chances


	2. Second Chances

Chapter Title: Second Chances

Author: Sam

Story: Sessions of Survival: 01 of 09

Series: _SpeedBurn_: 01

Setting: Wednesday, April 1, 1998; New York City.

xxx

_Father Henri Nouwen once said, "The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing . . . not healing, not curing . . . that is a friend who cares."_

xxx

"No, Hon. Unpack later. Walk now."

Mac Taylor laughed, blue eyes crinkling as she tugged on his strong calloused hand. Tugging back lightly on her tanned fingers, the dark-haired officer grinned widely as the brown haired woman with the laughing blue eyes tumbled willingly into his lap. "What about we test that bed up in the attic? I made it up right after breakfast . . ." he dropped his voice to a low purr, nuzzling his lips right behind her ear.

Claire's laugh rang through the nearly empty house. He loved her laugh. He loved her playfulness. He loved everything about his wife.

A shadow darkened his eyes, the smile fading, the laughter dying, as Mac recalled another thing he'd loved about his wife . . . their daughter.

Something must have shown on his face because Claire's smile faltered. "Mac, we'll find her, love. We'll get her back." She slid out of his lap and pulled him unresisting to his feet. "C'mon, Mac. We're going to go walk and explore this glorious city."

Mac let her guide him out the front door and down the stone steps of their three story brownstone. He controlled his breathing, pushing down the anger and grief over their missing Maggie, swearing anew that they would find their daughter. Sitting in an unpacked house brooding about it wouldn't bring her back.

"Walk . . ." he murmured. "Yeah, let's explore. New York's not Chicago, but it can't be too different." The ex-Marine knew how different every city was from one another, but somehow all cities had felt the same to him in his vast travels: the traffic, the people, the pace, the pulse . . . the heartbeat of the city soothed and invigorated at the same time. No one was ever alone in a city and somehow that was comforting. For Mac, accepting the transfer to New York had been a chance to stick with the familiar while escaping the overwhelming pain they'd known in Chicago the past year.

Mac's sneakers hit the concrete at the bottom of the stairs and he stepped close to his wife. Entwining his fingers with hers, he matched his stride to hers as they headed towards one of the local skyscrapers. The steady rhythm of their footsteps soothed away troubled thoughts, sounding a tempo of promise and hope opening up to them in their new home.

xxx

_One more bust. Just one._

Avoiding the decrepit woman in the warped mirror, Stella Bonasera pushed greasy lank tangles out of her face and reached for the garish ruby lipstick. The narcotics detective applied her make-up quickly by feel rather than sight. She couldn't take the time to do an expert job; it wouldn't look right anyway. She needed to blend in with the users and pushers, not stand out. Wiping her nose on the sleeve of her ragged sweatshirt, she shook her head and slipped the over-large sleeve back onto her shoulder. Blowing out through cracked lips, Stella tossed the lipstick tube into the sink and turned towards the door, grabbing her battered orange handbag as she strode past.

Her supervisor promised to switch her out after the next bust. Maybe she'd get homicide. At this point, she'd accept juvie as long as it got her off narcs and back to a normal life. She didn't mind undercover work just the cover story she'd been given.

Once at the door, the detective stopped and opened her purse, dipping her hand in to check on the contents. Running a mental checklist, she ticked off the items as she felt them: gun, old used makeup tubes, pen and pad, bus pass, ripped subway stub, lighter, foil . . . Stopping, Stella felt around again. When she still didn't find the foil packet, she strode to the side table and upended her purse, running her fingers carefully through the skimpy contents. Still no packet.

"Damn! Where is it?" She needed that for her cover identity. How could she be a junkie without the junk? "Okay, think, Stella."

She picked up each item and tossed it into the purse, her mind racing over possibilities. She needed the stuff. She had no money. She could go to her supervisor for supplies or funds, but she'd have to explain why she needed it. She could go to the bank and get something out of her account, but that would blow her cover . . . and she really had nothing until payday.

Stella sighed and closed the purse then opened the door of the squatter's flat. She'd have to ask Johnny . . . again. With a wince, the undercover officer locked her apartment and headed down the hall. After this bust, Johnny wouldn't have to bail her out anymore.

Stopping at the desk, Stella looked around for the clerk who answered phones and rented rooms by the week. Not spotting him, the brunette grabbed the phone receiver, dialed quickly, and waited for a pickup. Several tenants passed on various personal missions before she finally hung up, frustrated.

Johnny wasn't answering.

Running a hand through her disordered curls, Stella looked around the pitiful grungy lobby. She rubbed her hand over her arm and sighed again. She needed to go out and buy but she had no cash. It had been a couple days since she'd bought. Stella shifted restlessly, wiping her palms down her legs. If she didn't go buy, she couldn't make that bust. She really needed to buy.

There _was_ one other option.

xxx

Continued in Chapter Two: Chocolate Honey


	3. Chocolate Honey

Chapter Title: Chocolate Honey

Author: Sam

Story: Sessions of Survival: 02 of 09

Series: _SpeedBurn_: 01

Setting: Sunday, April 20, 1997; Chicago.

xxx

The hospital corridor seemed too bright. Meant to portray an image of cleanliness, rather the white walls and light grey flooring, the shiny silver supply cabinets, and the crisp white uniforms of the staff highlighted the sick and injured. Bandages even blended into the surroundings unless something like blood added a dreaded splash of color. Perhaps there was something more than aesthetics at work; possibly the color scheme was one more way to aid in care giving: if a bandage didn't blend in it would need to be changed.

Derek Morgan shuddered as he pushed the uncharitable thoughts aside. His own mind-numbing, pain-filled hospital stay had biased him. Bias was the last thing he needed on this case; he needed objectivity.

He took a deep, steadying breath then another. Gathering his calm, the African-American investigator followed his mentor down the post-delivery ward hallway. Stocky and muscular from years of football and other athletics, Derek turned female heads every where he walked. Enjoying feminine company, Derek encouraged their attention with his ready smile and friendly, flirtatious style. But somehow his normally outgoing personality felt at odds in this haven of new mothers and tiny infants. No matter how much a delivery ward might try to include the male parents of newborns, it still felt like a female-only zone to the young FBI agent. Derek smiled anyway.

Surprisingly a relatively large number of women smiled back. One or two even asked him to come see their proud new family addition. Holding up a hand in thanks, he called that he would try if he got the time. Derek figured the women thought he was visiting his own new family; he let them have the illusion. Who wanted to tell them that a newborn infant had been kidnapped from the supposed safety of the hospital mere hours before?

Stopping at the nurse's station right behind Jason Gideon, Derek watched attentively as he listened to Gideon introduce them with a soft voice. Anyone within hearing range stopped and reacted to the arrival of the FBI agents. Many of the people showed genuine horror, grief, and fear. Some showed disgust and anger. One displayed controlled misery. That was the man Jason spoke with.

Dark brown curls cut close, blue eyes scanning everywhere, capable looking hands clenched, the man in the jeans and button-down shirt stood stiff and watchful. This Lieutenant Taylor reminded Derek of a military man and a cop, exactly as Jason had described him to be. Taylor's eyes flicked assessingly over Derek who straightened, and then went back to Jason: either dismissing or accepting the younger agent.

Derek murmured his intention to talk to the Chicago detective's wife then moved down the hall when Mr. Taylor nodded assent.

When he got to the room, Derek hesitated, gathering himself for the coming interview. He took a moment to peek in and listen for whatever insight the mother's private actions could give him. His forethought showed a grieving woman.

Claire Taylor sat up against the raised back of her hospital bed. She was disheveled from her difficult delivery and post-delivery life-saving resuscitation. A tangle of damp brown curls clung to her tear streaked face and escaped down her back from a single hair band. She had her arms wrapped around herself in a self-protective hug. Soft murmurs of disjointed words and nonsensical sounds wrenched from her throat as she rocked. She should have been sharing this special day with her husband and new daughter; instead, she grieved alone while her husband aided the investigation into the little girl's disappearance.

Softly, Derek knocked on the open door to alert the woman to his presence. Her head shot up like a hunted deer, but her wide eyes were a tear-washed blue not a hunted brown. "Hey," he said.

"Chocolate honey?" her voice rasped hoarsely.

Unsure about the odd comment, Derek offered a gentle smile. "Excuse me?"

The woman sighed and said "did you bring chocolate honey?"

Derek shook his head. "No, sorry. I only brought me." He opened his mouth to introduce himself, but she interrupted him.

"Oh. I'm craving chocolate honey." She sighed and straightened in the bed. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Derek Morgan. I'm with the FBI." He stepped into the room, watching her carefully, wincing inside at her sudden look of wrenching pain.

Claire nodded and unwrapped one arm to pat the bed beside her. "I'd rather not need you." The woman seemed perfectly lucid. "What should I call you? Officer Morgan? Agent Morgan? Derek?" Then, her eyes catching a faint sparkle of mischief inherent to her personality, she added almost playfully, "Chocolate Honey?"

He couldn't resist his answering laugh and he stepped over to the woman's bed. "Whatever makes you comfortable, Mrs. Taylor."

She shook her head. "No. Too formal. Please, call me . . ." she paused, as if toying with the choices and finally settled on "Sugar's nice." Claire offered a small smile then added "or Claire if you'd rather."

Meeting the woman's attempt at lightening the somber mood, Derek responded, "Okay, Sugar, as long as Mr. Sugar doesn't get upset with me."

A loud peal of laughter burst from the woman, surprising Derek and drawing her husband and Agent Gideon to the room. Claire smiled tremulously at the two newcomers and stretched out a hand to her husband. "Mac, I love this guy. He's my new chocolate honey."

The comment bordered on the inappropriate but Jason didn't correct her. Neither did Mac. Both just turned their attention to Derek who shrugged slightly in response. He innately found the right note to handle most women. Hoping he was playing his hand right, Derek said, "I failed to bring the real thing."

Apparently, it was the right thing to say.

Mac moved to his wife and lowered himself to sit on the bed, his posture less stiff as he settled by the disheveled woman. The military bearing he'd displayed in the hall seemed little more than an illusion. He took her hand and brought it to his lips for a brief salute then looked up at the two agents. His voice was hoarse, yet controlled, as he said "I'm glad you like him, Claire. He's Gideon's trainee."

The woman nodded and leaned into her husband, her smile still playing gently over her lips. "Hey, Jace. It's been awhile. Thanks for coming." Her attempt at normalcy broke on a sob and she turned her face into her husband's shoulder as he wrapped her protectively in his arms.

Jason moved to stand on the same side of the bed as Mac sat. "Claire. I wish it was different circumstances. Could you tell me what happened?"

She nodded and lifted her face, fresh tears adding another salty layer to her already tear-stained face. "A nurse brought in my baby and handed her to me." She drew a deep breath, paused as if for thought, then added softly, "twenty minutes passed and a different nurse came in and told me Magnolia had to go back to the nursery. I kissed my baby and handed her over and the nurse left. Maybe fifteen minutes later, the first nurse came back for the baby. When I told her someone had already come for her, the nurse left. An alarm went off and the loudspeaker said there was a Code Adam." Claire covered her mouth with a shaking hand and sobbed "that means kidnapping. I knew my baby was the one taken."

Reaching out a sympathetic hand, Jason touched Claire's arm. "Take some deep breaths, Sugar," he said, confirming that Claire had also let him use the familiar nickname. After the woman followed his instructions, Jason turned to her husband. "Lieutenant?"

"Mac," he corrected. "I was with the doctor discussing Claire's health care when the alarm sounded. I was there the entire time our daughter was in the room and watched the woman in the nurse's uniform take her away. I followed, but only as far as Claire's delivery doctor so I could discuss Claire's care." He frowned, his face turning so severe that his Marine background was quite believable. "I had no idea she wasn't an employed nurse."

Derek asked "what did she look like?"

The ex-Marine shook his head and frowned severely. "Light brown or blonde hair, about shoulder-length. Slim, about five nine." He looked directly into Derek's brown eyes, the Chicago detective's blue eyes dark with determination. "I didn't really look at her. She wore a white knee length dress and white soft shoes polished to a shine. She had her hair down and it waved slightly. I didn't get a good look at her face, though. I was too enraptured with Maggie."

"Understandable," Jason added. "Do you know if you saw her before? Either around the nursery or even before the delivery?"

Claire nodded. "I don't know when, but I've seen her. Or she seemed familiar." She suddenly shuddered and wailed, "I should have challenged her. I should have asked for ID." Claire buried her face in her husband's shoulder again, entire body shaking as she sobbed.

Mac wrapped both arms around his wife and held her close, his face contorting as he fought his own grief-filled release.

Jason looked at Derek then back at the genuinely traumatized couple. Unless they were supreme actors, they hadn't been involved in the infant's disappearance. The agents would have to look further afield for answers.

xxx

Continued in Chapter Three: Cry for Help


	4. Cry for Help

Chapter Title: Cry for Help

Author: Sam

Story: Sessions of Survival: 03 of 09

Series: _SpeedBurn_: 01

Setting: Sunday, April 1, 1998; New York City.

xxx

"Can you believe they've never heard of chocolate honey?" Claire kept her arm entwined with Mac's as the pair strode past small store fronts and littered alleyways. She kept her purse on the arm between her and her husband and kept her grip loose enough that he could draw his weapon if needed. "I am going to have to introduce this city to the one thing it seems to be missing."

Mac laughed and turned to look at his vivacious wife. Stealing a quick kiss from her smiling lips, Mac glanced in each alley they passed, alert despite his casual attitude. He'd grown up on the rough streets of Chicago and did not underestimate the danger of this new city. "I agree. They're culinary Neanderthals," Mac teased, delighting in Claire's rippling laugh.

"I can cook."

The hoarse whisper emerged from a sun-lit alley, near a dumpster. The pair turned to look at the speaker: a dirty, sallow-skinned, too-thin woman of indeterminable age or beauty. The woman shuffled closer to the edge of the alley, watery eyes darting around warily. She wiped her runny nose on one already encrusted sleeve then turned back to the pair. "I can cook a masterpiece. You like Greek? I can do Greek." She shuffled just a bit closer, clasping a gaudy orange handbag against her torn sweatshirt. "Or Italian? I can do Italian, too. Or burgers."

Claire never took her eyes from the haunted, hungry look on the decrepit woman's face. Those green eyes compelled her to listen. With a small frown, Claire watched as the stranger clenched and unclenched her free hand repeatedly, running her fingers in a stroking motion over the clasp on her bag . . . again and again. "You cook?" ventured the pretty brunette. "What's your name?"

"Yes," the other woman jumped at the implied interest, ignoring Mac's sudden hiss of warning. "I can cook, clean, sew . . . I walk dogs, watch kids, wash windows . . ." the woman's eyes darted once more around at the mass of humanity seething around them in determined ignorance. "I . . ." she licked her lips, a nervous gesture, "I can make it worth your while." She ran her eyes over Claire then Mac and added "both of you." As an afterthought, she added "name's Starr."

Disgust welled in Mac at the woman's blatant sexual proposal, and he ignored the stab of grief the name brought with it. It wasn't the thought of having sex with her so much, though he certainly was not interested. What bothered the detective was the idea that this poor woman had been driven to selling herself. He looked her over, noting the clutching hands, runny nose, watery eyes, fetid breath, and pale skin. By the looks of her, the woman was a heroine junkie. Junkies often turned to prostitution and theft to supply their habit.

Mac slipped his hand towards his pocket, intent on arresting the woman for prostitution just to get her off the streets for a few nights.

"Starr?" Claire's voice sent a jolt of surprise through her husband, but she ignored his stiffening stance.

"Mine's Claire. This is Mac." Claire tried to hide the longing in her voice, but she couldn't hide the desire to help. She felt compelled, connected. "Would you be willing to go someplace more comfortable for this? I don't fancy an alley." Claire slowly let her eyes rove the woman as if she were truly interested in sharing her husband with her.

The woman nodded. "There's . . . uh . . . rooms around the block." Her green eyes darted from Claire to Mac and back. "You sure? Looks like your boyfriend isn't happy about sharing." She started shuffling back into her alley.

"No, I'll share," Mac said, surprising himself but trusting Claire to know what she was doing. "But I do fantasies." He felt Claire pull away and turn to look at him but refused to meet her wide blue eyes. He was afraid he'd break down and just bust the woman if he had to acknowledge the lie by looking at his wife.

"Fantasies? Like teacher and bad student?" Starr looked a bit put-out but didn't leave or out-right refuse.

The detective nodded and shrugged. "I like shower stalls and bath tubs." He looked the woman over, keeping his face neutral. "If you will let us share in a shower . . ." Mac trailed off and felt a small triumph when the woman eagerly took the bait.

"Yes, showers are fine. Let's go." Starr passed them, surprisingly light on her feet for someone in need of a hit.

"No," Claire smiled and slid her arm in the other woman's, turning her in the opposite direction. "This way. Our home is this way."

xxx

Stella frowned at the brunette woman with the blue eyes, her racing mind going too quickly to figure out this puzzle. "Your home?" She glanced at the dark-haired man with the blue eyes and immediately pulled her gaze back to the woman. He was too damn good looking and something about him was too damned disciplined. He reminded her of a judge.

Common sense told the narcotics officer that allowing these people to bring her home would be a dangerous mistake. She would be helpless in their house. The shower fantasy thing she didn't believe for a minute; the guy probably wanted her clean. Stella wouldn't mind a hot shower; her utilities had been cut off last week and she'd been living on cold canned food and tap water from the laundry room hose.

Of course, she could walk away and hit up someone else for the money she needed: only enough for a buy so she could make the bust, of course. Once she made the bust, she could drop the cover and access her bank account. She could move back into a real apartment and keep clean. But first she had to make the bust. And in order to do that, she needed money. That led her back to the original problem: no money.

Looking over the woman who guided her down the street, Stella made a quick decision based on instinct. Somehow, she felt this pair was honest, if a little kinky hiring someone for a threesome. Stella could hardly expect as clean-cut a mark a second time. Besides, she could handle herself against these two. All she had to do was stay alert. Her stomach roiled, but she ignored the continuing discomfort.

She nodded. "Okay. Your place. We shower and play. Sounds great." She peeked at the man then snapped her eyes forward again. _Still too unnerving to look at him._ Something about him felt like her whole world was about to shift and she wasn't sure how to stop it . . . or if she even wanted to.

xxx

They walked for some time, and the longer they walked the worse Stella felt. As they crossed into a quiet neighborhood she realized that she wouldn't be getting that score today. This wouldn't be an easy night. Glancing at the nice looking pair she walked between then back at the quiet street lined with pretty brownstones, she wondered what she could do to get out of this mess. Maybe she could call Johnny again.

Surprise lanced through Stella when the pair abruptly turned her towards the steps of a three story brownstone set in a tiny green yard. No curtains hung at the windows, no furniture seemed to loom inside. The place felt abandoned and the narcotic officer's sense of danger ratcheted up. She tried to get her chaotic thoughts in order as the couple led her up the stone steps and into the home.

Boxes stood everywhere, marked with room and content notes. A few pieces of furniture were pushed against a wall in the spacious living room, but only a pair of chairs seemed usable: the rest were piled with smaller containers and newspaper wrapped parcels. Even the glimpse of the kitchen beyond the open doorway showed a home packed tight for moving.

Stella tried to wriggled back out the door, but the woman, Claire, wouldn't let go, though her husband did. "Uh," Stella looked around. "I need to use the bathroom." _Great, lame excuse, Bonasera!_ She gave a hopeful smile at the woman.

Claire smiled back at her and said "sorry this place is a wreck. We just moved in last night and haven't got a chance to unpack yet. There's a working bathroom upstairs." Without releasing Stella, the woman led her guest up flights of stairs to the attic room with the single bed and the open door leading to a neat, clean bathroom. Sparsely furnished but clean were good signs, at least, and Stella nodded, smiling wanly.

She broke free at last and looked nervously at Claire and Mac, who'd followed the women after rooting in a box a few minutes.

Mac stepped forward, holding out a large towel and matching washcloth, a bottle of avocado shampoo, and a brand new bar of soap. As the nervous woman took them from his hands, he let his eyes quickly size her. "You and Claire are the same size. I'll get you something to wear." He turned towards the door.

Stella clasped the supplies against her chest and backed a step towards the bathroom. Hopefully it had a lock. Suddenly her swimming head seemed to explode in painful stars and the entire room lurched. With a cry, Stella dropped the bath supplies and fell to her knees. Squeezing her eyes shut, she opened her mouth and helplessly vomited all over the floor.

Claire jumped forward to encase Stella in strong arms, pushing her matted hair from her face as the sick woman emptied her stomach.

Mac stepped backwards into the hall as if afraid he'd be covered. "Starr?" His voice held all the worry of a caring friend, though they'd only just met.

Wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, shaking with the weakness that always came with being sick, Stella looked up at the handsome man through pain-filled eyes. "Sorry . . ."

"Is there someone I can call for you?" he asked, his voice still concerned, his blue eyes worried.

Surprised at the offer, Stella covered her mouth, choking down another wave. After a long struggle, she gasped, "Johnny. Call Johnny Kelly." Before she could provide his number, Stella began to vomit once more, barely aware of Claire's soothing, worried tones.

Mac ran down the stairs.

xxx

A name wasn't much to go on, but Mac had the latest phone book and an investigator's keen mind. They'd found the woman close by, so he's start there with his search. If this Johnny was her pimp or handler, he wouldn't be too far from where she trawled. Mac knew this Starr woman would be too weak to do anything to Claire, so he had no qualms leaving the women alone while he dealt with this Johnny character. Why arrest a prostitute when you could get the pimp, too?

Flipping quickly through the pages of the phone directory, Mac found the entries of Kelly rather quickly. There were a lot of them, probably an Irish neighborhood, but only one Jonathan listed. Grimly, the former Chicago cop grabbed his mobile phone and flipped it open. His finger followed the written information as the thumb on his other hand typed out the number, then he brought the device to his ear and listened as it rang.

On the fourth ring, someone picked up. A pleasant baritone said, "John Kelly, can I help you?" He sounded friendly enough, with a decided Brooklyn accent tinted by his Irish ancestry.

Unable to picture the man that went with the voice, Mac immediately replied, "hello. Starr's sick and said to call you." He knew he should have introduced himself, but held back, waiting to see what this guy said.

"All right." Johnny sounded calm as he responded slowly. He paused, as if to think things through, then asked, "where is she?"

Mac gave the address he had only moved into the night before. "I can send her to a hospital," Mac offered.

"Ah, no." The other man replied in his smooth voice. "That won't be necessary. I'll come get her." He paused on the other side then finally asked "and who should I thank?"

Pausing just as long, Mac said "my name's Mac." He didn't add anything else and Johnny didn't ask.

The other man said "uh, all right, I'll be right there." He hung up, leaving Mac staring thoughtfully at the bare wall of his bare home. Upstairs he could hear Claire getting Starr cleaned up and into the attic bed.

Who'd have thought when he left Chicago that he'd jump right into the bad side of New York City.

xxx

Continued in Chapter Four: Not What It Seems


	5. Not What It Seems

Chapter Title: Not What It Seems

Author: Sam

Story: Sessions of Survival: 04 of 09

Series: _SpeedBurn_: 01

Setting: Sunday, April 20, 1997: Chicago.

xxx

Jason looked over the room. "Has anything been moved since the woman left?" The room seemed to be well-ordered but no hospital basinet sat near the mother's bed. The lack of a new delivery gift basket was also conspicuous.

The Chicago cop shook his head. "No. I'll take you to the room. Claire was moved in here as soon as we realized what had happened. We've got a patrolman stationed at the door so no one will interfere with the scene."

As troubling as having a police officer as a victim felt, it helped. He had been able to control the crime scene and keep it as pristine as possible for the coming investigation. Not many people would have had enough self-discipline to think of such a thing.

Gently squeezing Claire's hand, Mac turned and led Jason from the room, leaving the young trainee with the young mother.

"Okay, ask me," Claire surprised Derek by saying, her voice wavering with her attempt to remain in control.

Derek turned and looked at her. "Ask you?"

Claire nodded and gestured towards the chair nearest her bed. "Sit, Chocolate Honey. Mac called Jace in because he's got profiling skills. He's one of the leading authorities in the field." She smiled tremulously and watched Derek walk over and slip onto the chair. "So, if you're his trainee, he must be teaching you profiling."

"Ah," Derek nodded and smiled back. "Yes, he is."

"Good." Claire straightened in the bed and took a deep breath. "I don't mind going through this more than once, so you can practice your skills on me. Ask away."

Running a hand down his trousers leg, Derek sighed. "Look, Sugar, I appreciate the offer, but the profile questions won't be easy. I think it's better if we wait for Gideon."

A frown settled on the woman's tired face. She leaned back into the bed and turned her face away, her posture stiff with displeasure.

He hated upsetting her after what she'd been through, but Derek had seen people break down with only one run through some of the necessary questions. He was new at working with the profiles and had to rely on the thick sheaf of pages; he hadn't memorized the questions yet. If a victim saw the document, consisting of over twenty pages of questions, the case might seem hopeless. True, the document mainly asked about the scene itself, but that many pages were sure to scare any victim.

Claire Taylor merely looked at Derek, interrupting his thoughts. "Honey, I'm married to a cop. I work for law enforcement. I know the reasons behind waiting, but the longer I wait, the further she gets away." The brunette shuddered and seemed to sink into the hospital bed, as if losing the strength she'd found a moment before. "I actually want to answer the questions twice. I think it would help."

Surprise flitted across Derek's handsome face. "How could it help?"

"If my answers differ, we'll find where I'm fuzzy. The second time might trigger more information. And with two different people asking, I'll have two different assessments. I know you won't ask me every question in your form, but the ones I can answer, I will." She raised pain-filled blue eyes and reached one hand to touch Derek's arm. "Come on, Chocolate Honey," she offered a wavering smile, "it'll give me a feeling of being useful. I'm stuck in this bed for several days."

He couldn't argue with her determination. Derek nodded and flipped open the file, pulling out a pen and some blank sheets of paper from the back. "Okay, we'll start with the same questions I already asked earlier . . ." he instructed and wrote each answer as she gave it.

xxx

When they arrived at the room at the end of the hall, Jason identified himself to the patrol cop stationed there. He apparently ignored the man as he looked into the room, but Jason Gideon was very observant. He noticed things many didn't pick up on; his attitude was cultivated to get others to relax.

Once inside the room, he noticed the disarray of the bedclothes, as well as the blood on the bed liner, unchanged at Mac's insistence. He gestured towards it casually, to test Mac's reaction. "Blood?"

Mac nodded and sighed, worry in his every movement. "Claire hemorrhaged for several hours. They got the bleeding under control but not stopped." He looked at his former Marine. "It was a very difficult delivery, Gideon. The doctor's already making predictions that Claire shouldn't carry another." Mac's voice flared in frustration and anger. "He had to bring that up right after Maggie was taken." Mac's blue eyes darkened in further pain. "No bedside manner."

Jason turned to his former superior officer and frowned, his brown eyes narrowing in concentration. "My wife would have switched doctors."

"This wasn't her normal doctor." Mac shook his head. "Her doctor's on maneuvers. And, yes, we've got this guy detained in case he was part of this. The hospital's pissed because they had to scramble to find another delivery doctor to replace him, but they're working with it."

"And the nurse?" Jason turned fully to Mac, studying his old friend. The Chicago cop was in control, barely. Jason had seen him this way before: after the Beirut bombing. Mac Taylor seemed to thrive on high stress situations, but after the action ended, he was prone to becoming a bit overwhelmed. He'd even been known to make decisions he regretted within a few hours. Jason wondered which decisions Mac had made that he'd regret this time.

Mac stayed still in the doorway to the hospital room. His eyes roved the entire scene, but it wasn't clear whether the man saw his surroundings or not. He didn't speak for some time but when he did it was low and serious. "She seemed familiar but I couldn't place her. I'm sure I've seen her around the hospital before, but I can't pinpoint any specific times or dates."

Slowly, Mac's eyes widened and he turned to Jason completely. "Wait, she shouldn't be here."

Jason didn't take his eyes from Mac. "You remember something?"

Mac nodded. "Claire was scheduled to deliver on base, but the bleeding started so quickly we went to the closest hospital. If we've seen that nurse, it was on base. We don't use the civilian hospitals."

A single nod and Jason turned crisply and strode from the room, his bearing suspiciously military in that moment. Mac followed as Jason strode directly to the lead Chicago agent and told him what they'd found out. This could be the breakthrough they needed: a possible military perpetrator.

The agent turned and gave commands to extend the search to the base, especially the base hospital staff.

Turning to Mac, Jason gestured back towards the guarded room. "Let's see what else you can remember, Mac." They strode back into the room, intensity vibrating from both former Marines.

xxx

Continued in Chapter Five: Promises of Threats


	6. Promises of Threats

Chapter Title: Promises of Threats

Author: Sam

Story: Sessions of Survival: 05 of 09

Series: _SpeedBurn_: 01

Setting: Sunday, April 1, 1998; New York City.

xxx

Mac was surprised when a knock sounded less than ten minutes later. He walked to the door and looked out the patterned glass panel inset next to the old wood. Through the warped glass, Mac saw a six foot tall man with bright red hair dressed in a business suit. Irish most certainly but rather understated for a pimp. Mac opened the door and stepped back. "Johnny Kelly?"

The redhead nodded and stepped inside, glancing quickly around his surroundings. "Yeah. Mac?"

"That's right," Mac responded. He carefully closed the door, not wanting to draw the attention of their new neighbors. Surprise coursed through the former Chicago cop when Johnny went on to pull out security credentials.

"I'm a private detective," Johnny explained. "Where's Starr?"

The pieces in the puzzle began to shift and Mac asked "she's a narcotics officer, isn't she?" He'd seen many good cops turn dirty because of narcs. Often it was the undercover work and the necessity to use the drugs to elicit confidence for the larger drug busts.

Johnny nodded, frowning softly. "She told you?" Surprise laced the man's voice.

"No," Mac slipped out his own credentials and presented them to Johnny. "I'm the new head of the crime lab, Mac Taylor."

"Damn," Johnny's frown deepened. He slid his hands to his waist, pushing back his suit jacket and inadvertently exposing the gun in the shoulder holster. "What do you plan to do with her?" the detective asked.

"I plan to get her cleaned up." Mac turned and led Johnny up the stairs, all senses alert in case the stranger tried anything.

At the attic, Mac gestured at Starr lying, filthy and exhausted, on the bed. Claire had already cleaned up the vomit from the floor. Johnny swore softly and turned to Mac. "And what then? She's supposed to be working a local ring." Johnny sounded disgusted but it wasn't clear why.

Closing the door on the women, Mac turned to Johnny. "What do you suggest? She needs off the drugs, my guess is heroine, and out of narcs."

Surprisingly, Johnny nodded and sat on the top step, waiting until Mac joined him. "She works for the 15th. The narcs supervisor's a real ass but no one will turn on him. I can't get enough on him since I left the precinct and my old partner's knee deep in homicide." He turned worried blue eyes on Mac, his voice disgusted as he said "I've gotten her cleaned up three times, totally off the heroine, but that ass keeps throwing her back in. Stella keeps getting caught up in the cycle and starts using again. He keeps promising her out and a big promotion, but I think he's holding the drug use over her to make her continue. She's made the most busts of any of his crew."

Thoughtfully, Mac nodded, blue eyes staring at nothing in particular as he processed the information. Finally, softly, he said, "I know a way to clean her up without it getting on her record." He looked at Johnny, noting the surge of hope in the other man's eyes. "And I can use her to help clean up the 15th." He stood and opened the door, signaling Claire to join them in the hall.

After briefly explaining the undercover officer's predicament, Mac added, "what I've got in mind is going to be dangerous and could get us all thrown in prison if it doesn't work." He looked from his wife to Johnny. "But if it does work, we can take down a dirty cop and expose a police cover-up."

Johnny nodded and ran a hand through his red hair. "It's a big risk to you guys to help her out. You can't take her to the hospital: the paper trail would kill any chance for this to work. He's got the clinic staff and some of the hospital in his pocket." Johnny's accent thickened as he became more angered at the injustice.

Mac nodded. "That's not what I have in mind."

xxx

Johnny shook his head, putting his coffee cup down on the windowsill. The plan these Chicago transplants had didn't sound any better the third time they'd run through it. "It's too dangerous. The number of survivors from a cold turkey withdrawal are . . . uh . . . too low to take the chance."

"The only way to get the alternate medicine would be to check her into the hospital or rehab," Mac countered. Over the last several hours they'd discussed every possibility for helping the woman lying on the bed nearby. The arguments always circled back to what Mac proposed: Mac and Claire would keep Stella at their house and clean her up while Johnny would tell everyone she was taking personal leave to find her parents. The fact that Stella had been adopted added that personal touch to the story. But the hazards of quitting without medical assistance were proven time and again on the streets. Mac had no illusions that this would be the most unpleasant experience Stella would ever go through.

The red-haired New Yorker turned to look out the window onto the quiet, reasonably clean street. "She could die," his voice sounded choked, desperate.

"I want to." Stella lay on the bed, trembling but lucid. She looked from Johnny to Mac to Claire then back to her oldest friend. "Johnny, I can't keep doing this. I need out. I need out of narcs, out of the 15th." She pushed to a sitting position, smiling wanly as Claire helped her. "Johnny, I trust them."

Johnny turned, his face twisted in pain for the woman he hadn't been able to help so far. "We just met them, Stel. They took up a stranger on an offer of a threesome for money. How can you trust them?" He didn't care if he insulted the couple; he spoke the harsh truth.

Claire sank onto the mattress next to the shaking Stella, wrapping a secure arm around the other woman. "Then stay and help us. You can be part of this."

Johnny's blue eyes widened at the offer and he studied Claire a long moment. Finally, he looked at Stella. "You know what it is they want to do, Stella, right?"

Taking a deep breath, the dark-haired officer nodded slowly. "Yes, Johnny." She reached out a hand and he grasped it. "They want to give me a chance to break free. They want to give me back my life."

"But it could kill you, Stel," he slid to his knees by the bed, bringing her hand to his lips, his eyes searching hers desperately.

Neither Mac nor Claire denied the strong possibility Johnny feared.

Stella turned her hand to cup Johnny's cheek. "But I could live, Johnny. The way I am now, I'd be better dead. I can't do it anymore."

The friends looked at one another for several slow heartbeats, communing in silence, their eyes relaying their thoughts, their fears, their hopes. Finally, Johnny turned his head slightly to kiss Stella's palm. "Alright, Stella. Alright."

She offered a tremulous smile.

With a decisive nod of his head, Mac strode towards the trio at the bed. "First thing then is to secure you so you won't get out." He met Stella's eyes, his manner as serious as the frown on his face. "And begging won't make us relent."

"I've been through withdrawal before, Mac," Stella assured him.

He shook his head. "Not like this. This will be hell."

xxx

Continued in Chapter Six: A Dark and Twisted Mind


	7. A Dark and Twisted Mind

Chapter Title: A Dark and Twisted Mind

Author: Sam

Story: Sessions of Survival: 06 of 09

Series: _SpeedBurn_: 01

Setting: Sunday, April 20, 1997, Late Evening; Chicago.

xxx

Several hours had passed yet the hospital staff did nothing to hinder the investigation or the activities of the FBI agents. The delivery doctor and other staff were interviewed, base security was contacted, and other new mothers carefully approached to gather information on the actions of the unknown suspect, or UNSUB, as Jason Gideon referred to her. Finally, Jason and his protégé sat down with local law enforcement, Chicago's FBI investigators, and the victim's father, Mac Taylor. Normally the family would have been excluded, but Jason made an exception for the assistant supervisor of the crime lab; though, he did forbid Claire Taylor, the victim's mother, from attendance.

When all had gathered, Jason Gideon turned to the lead police investigator for the case. "Have you found anything more on the nurse?" He felt it best to include local law enforcement as much as possible: less professional friction made for better end cooperation.

"Yeah," the man said. "Admin says they had a few volunteers come in from the base because several regular nurses are out with the flu and one from an insulin overdose. The only military nurse unaccounted for from the sign-in register is a woman named Lieutenant Taylor." Mac stiffened as the cop looked at him and finished, "no first name."

"No first name?" Derek asked leaning slightly forward.

The cop frowned and nodded. "Right. Said military doesn't use 'em so she never answers to one."

"She said Lieutenant Taylor?" Mac asked, his voice neutral, his expression closed.

Suddenly, the cop seemed to get the link and turned widening brown eyes on the crime lab investigator. "Damn . . ."

Jason interrupted, "and what did the base say about her?"

The same cop, Officer Gerrin, tore his eyes away from his colleague and looked at the profiler. "Said she didn't exist. Said there is no Lieutenant Taylor on record." He picked up his notes. "Also said they mustered all the Taylor's and all were accounted for, so they pulled a surprise drill and mustered all hospital staff." He looked up. "Only three didn't show up."

Mac's hands tightened on the arms of his chair, but he didn't interrupt. _Could we have Maggie back this very night?_ He held his desperate question.

"One was a Petty Officer Davis who's in the hospital for an appendectomy. They checked and she's still there." Gerrin read from his notes. "Second is a Lieutenant Shyver whose now considered AWOL."

"Shyver?" Derek nodded and picked up the description of their UNSUB. "What's the lieutenant look like?" He hoped the locals had been thorough enough to ask.

They had. Officer Gerrin gave Derek a penetrating look as he recited, "six foot African-American woman with glasses and a limp from a recent fight with Shore Patrol."

"Damn," one of the Chicago FBI Agents swore, "not our UNSUB."

"No, sir, I didn't think so, but I wanted to be thorough." Gerrin looked back at his notes. "The third," he continued without request, "is a Commander Lisa Maynard who's been on leave for two days. According to her fellow nurses, she had been planning a trip to Florida for a week stay. The base is trying to reach her but she hasn't been in touch. Her plan included booking a catamaran though, so she may be out of range."

Flinging a pen down in frustration the Chicago agent blew out his breath in disgust. "So, not from the base."

"I think she may be," Mac interrupted quietly, a stricken look in his blue eyes. "The UNSUB was calling herself Lieutenant Taylor and Commander Maynard is missing." He ignored the curious and confused looks on the other investigator's faces as he met Jason's widening brown eyes.

Jason didn't disappoint. "Ensign Maynard was your nurse after Beirut . . . when you were still a Marine Lieutenant."

Mac nodded as the room broke into surprised response: some exclaiming, others standing.

"Everyone!" Jason raised his normally quiet voice to regain control. "We have a profile and a suspect."

The lead investigator, Gerrin, shook his head in disgust. "What do we need with a profile now? We already have a suspect!"

Derek shook his head. "A profile can tell you how to handle her so the danger to the infant is less."

That drew every investigator's attention. No one wanted to see little Magnolia Taylor hurt.

Finally, Jason filled the void. "We are most likely dealing with a deliberate attack. It's personal. This woman feels she has a connection with Mac . . . possibly even a romantic relationship based on their past history when she took care of him." Jason frowned softly, his normal lecturer's tone coming to the fore. "The UNSUB is delusional and may believe Mac is in love with her. She may even believe the infant is hers. She will hide in order to protect her perceived child, but she won't go far. She'll want to stay close to Mac." Jason turned his eyes directly on Mac when he added "Claire will in all probability be her next target. The UNSUB will need to replace who she sees as the '_other_' woman, the interloper in her own relationship with Mac."

Derek jumped in before the others could respond. "You'll need to get NCIS, the military crime investigators, involved since the UNSUB is a navy nurse whose probably gone AWOL. You'll need to handle this woman carefully. If she thinks there's a threat to her relationship to Mac, she may kill the infant and hide out. She's waited for fifteen years in the background. She's prepared to wait even longer."

One investigator raised her hand and asked "what kind of protection for Mrs. Taylor should we have?"

Jason sighed. "If Claire stays local, so will the UNSUB. The greatest protection could be to keep a twenty-four hour guard on the Taylors, but nothing obvious or the UNSUB may feel threatened. Moving around will probably keep the UNSUB too busy trying to find them to do any harm for the near future, but it's no guarantee and will make locating the UNSUB and the infant harder."

He turned back to his old military supervisor. "Mac, that will be up to you and Claire."

Mac nodded grimly as he sat back in his unyielding chair. He was only distantly aware of the sudden preparations to find his daughter, concerned with the new prospect that his wife, too, was in very real danger.

xxx

Continued in Chapter Seven: Hell to Pay


End file.
